


Be Free

by bioticbootyshaker



Category: Dragon Age II, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-11
Updated: 2014-08-11
Packaged: 2018-02-12 16:13:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,922
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2116362
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bioticbootyshaker/pseuds/bioticbootyshaker
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>While apprenticed to Alexius, Dorian attends a party hosted by Danarius, and meets Fenris. Over the years, he finds that his ambition to change the way his home land is governed is made stronger by his friendship with him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Be Free

**Author's Note:**

  * For [secretbraintwin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/secretbraintwin/gifts).



Dorian had his fill of parties and wine and stiff, formal conversation. Honestly, there was no reason for Alexius to drag him to every social event, yet the man seemed unwilling to let Dorian slip from his arm. He showed him off like a trophy, smiling fondly when his fellow Magisters envied him for his pretty apprentice. At least there were plenty of libations — Dorian doubted very much he could have survived the affair sober. 

Whenever his master was preoccupied with his gossip and rumors and his more darker, sanguine acts that Dorian only suspected and had never witnessed, he would slip into the shadows for some peace and quiet. Of course it was never for long, but it was all he could afford, and he appreciated his solitude whenever he could find it. Alexius kept him near to him at all times, grooming him to become part of the Magisterium — yet with every day that passed, Dorian wasn’t sure if he even wished to join such ranks. There were temptations, of course — wealth and power and respect — but there were also dangers; he had seen men sacrifice their honor to increase their posterity. He had seen men become corrupted and twisted in the name of power.

He had seen them bind others in chains.

Every day he was greeted with new perversions. The hope he had held when Alexius had first taken him under his tutelage was swiftly dwindling, leaving him feeling small and helpless in a place of sharp edges and dark intent. Still, if he became a Magister, if he reached the ranks of his Master, he might be able to change things, to change minds and hearts and cut out the cancer that blood magic had spread through the heart of his home. If he only did as he was told, if he only learned all that he could, if he only proved himself capable of joining the Magisterium, he might one day sit on the senate, and bring about real, substantial change. 

A voice somewhere deep in him whispered that he was naive if he believed such fantasies. He was seventeen, barely out of childhood, and yet he had aims to change the entire nation of Tevinter? The poisonous nature of a diseased place that reveled in its own sickness?

He sighed heavily, leaning his head against the wall, watching from behind a heavy curtain as Alexius laughed with his fellows. Elves moved through the room with collars heavy around their necks. Dorian looked away. 

The curtain stirred. Dorian turned and saw a boy around his own age, with platinum hair combed back from his brow and piercing green eyes. An elf, with that same collar tight around his throat. He murmured an apology and moved to leave, but Dorian stopped him, with a gentle, “Wait.”

The elf waited, looking at Dorian with a withered expression. He expected him to be cruel, to chastise him for slipping away from his duties, to strike him with vicious words and heavy fists. Dorian felt very aware of his own privilege, and his place in the world around them. Suddenly, the idea that he could make any kind of substantial change seemed not only childish, but _selfish_. 

“You can stay,” Dorian said. “If you’d like.”

He looked around, as though he expected someone else to find their hidden corner, before turning his eyes back to Dorian. “You don’t mind?”

“Not at all,” Dorian said. “I could use the company, in fact. Not much to talk to back here but the dust bunnies.”

He smiled, faintly, eyes still flicking from corner to corner. Dorian had heard that eyes could look like glass, fragile and easily broken, but he had never seen such a pair — at least not until the elf had arrived.

“What is your name?” Dorian asked.

“Le— Fenris,” he said. “My Master calls me Fenris.”

Dorian peered out into the grand hall. “And who is your Master?”

Fenris stepped nearer, peeking out from behind the curtain and scanning the crowd. “The man with the graying hair, over there,” Fenris said, pointing towards a man in resplendent violet robes. “Danarius.”

Alexius had mentioned the man. Apparently he had an appetite for more than power; he mixed his bloodlust with more sensual needs, and he was notorious amongst his fellows as a man of refined, eclectic tastes. To Alexius, he was a competitor, a rival with more power and esteem. Naturally, Danarius was a common guest at the gatherings, as any man who sought to advance in station knew just the right people to maneuver. Dorian had never seen Fenris, however, and he wondered if the boy had been newly… acquired. 

“I am familiar with him,” Dorian said, with clear distaste. “How long have you been with him?”

“Only a fortnight,” Fenris said. “But he has promised me that if I continue to serve faithfully I will be treated well. I can gain position under him.”

 _Position_ amongst slaves meant that Fenris hoped to be his body slave; to be his shadow, essentially, to serve his every need and be seen with some measure of respect. Yet he would remain a slave, his very life nothing to the man he served. 

“ _Position_ ,” Dorian said. “I see. And what _position_ does he enjoy you in?”

It was a brutal question, and Dorian could feel the sting of it on his lips. He apologized, softly, and Fenris seemed to accept the words; yet his eyes remained fragile, and there seemed to be a fracture there that hadn’t been there before. 

“You will be missed, surely,” Dorian said, when the silence between them stretched on uncomfortably. He remained at the edge of the curtains, peering out at the man who had collared the boy beside him. A rush of hatred moved like fire through his veins, leaving Dorian feeling weak and shaky when it passed. Of course it wasn’t that he hadn’t considered the fates of those oppressed by the rule of the magisters — after all, it was that which spurred him forward despite the horrific things he had been a witness to — it was only that he had never _spoken_ with someone so directly injured by the way the system operated. He had never looked into the eyes of someone and seen so much pain and shame before. Dorian wished he could have taken Danarius by the throat and strangled the life from him, but of course everyone in Tevinter had their place, and Dorian had been reminded of his his lowly station time and time again. 

“He will expect to find me near him, yes,” Fenris said, though his tone of voice suggested he was in no hurry to return to his Master. He lingered, and Dorian could feel his eyes on him, a comfortable weight that he easily bore. “May I ask your name?” Fenris asked, so softly Dorian almost didn’t hear him.

“Dorian,” he said, looking away from the men gathered beyond the curtain and turning his eyes to Fenris. “Dorian Pavus.”

Fenris held out his hand, a gesture that took great effort judging by the trembling of his fingers. Dorian took his hand in both of his, squeezing gently and holding his eyes. 

“It was good meeting you, Fenris.”

“And you, Dorian,” Fenris said. 

Dorian wondered if he could feel the weight of _his_ eyes as he slipped from behind the curtain and returned to Danarius’ side.

****

Over the next few years, as Dorian was trained and tutored under Alexius, he found himself in Danarius’ manor many times as a guest. The years brought with them admiration and esteem, and Dorian found that he was envied by fellow apprentices and doted upon by Magisters who wished to take them under their tutelage. Alexius gave them frosty looks while slipping his hand over Dorian’s shoulder and squeezing. He was never sure if the gesture meant to comfort him, or to remind the others that he belonged solely to him. 

It didn’t matter. What mattered was that, with so many invites to Danarius’ parties, Dorian was given ample time to converse with Fenris. Time, it seemed, had risen his own station — as much as a slave’s station could be raised. He was bodyguard to Danarius, charged with his safety, and it proved difficult for them to disappear into the shadows as they once had. It was only when Danarius led his fellows into another room for ritual and demonstration that they were afforded any time to be alone. 

Their conversations were fast, hushed, hidden from prying eyes. “I have been thinking of you,” Fenris said, “More than I should.” Such a simple thing, truly, but Fenris spoke the words with great effort, keeping his eyes on the floor. Dorian assumed there was something he should have said; suave, perhaps, debonair and confident — but he honestly could only stand there and fiddle with the rings on his fingers, his heart beating too hard and fast, his mouth dry. Fenris, it seemed, was bolder than he was, and he closed the space between them. 

“You have been a friend to me,” Fenris whispered. “When I thought… When I was sure that I would never…” He cleared his throat, trembling hands reaching out and taking Dorian’s. Bold, perhaps, but he was still afraid. Afraid of being caught, afraid of reaching out to touch a mage; the same people who had collared him, who had hurt him beyond telling. And still, he looked up when Dorian said his name, softly, imploringly. Still, he smiled when Dorian asked him if he was alright; a smile that said of course he wasn’t, but he might be if he could stay there a little longer. 

“I would do more for you,” Dorian said. He touched the collar at Fenris’ throat, fingers slipping under the cool leather and tugging it away from his throat. “I would do more, if I could. I would tear this thing from you and take you to the sea, where no one could ever touch you.”

Fenris laughed. “I am no sailor, Dorian. The ocean makes me sick.”

“Then I would take you south,” Dorian said. “Where the ocean is nothing but a story people hear about. Anywhere you want to go.”

The way Fenris looked at him… Dorian couldn’t understand, really. There was hope in his eyes, and affection, but also… regret, _apology_ , as though it was his fault they couldn’t simply leave the city. Fantasy was well and good, of course; fun, even, when they were in the dark together with hardly any room between their bodies. Reality was harsher — it was a grim reminder that there was no escape, there was nothing they could do.

“I will tell you what I want,” Fenris said. His arms slipped around Dorian’s neck, and he pulled him down and kissed him. It was rough, inexperienced, too much teeth and not enough tongue; Dorian guessed it was the best kiss of his life, when Fenris breathed into him and tightened his arms around his neck. “I want you,” Fenris breathed, hot against his mouth, “Please.”

There was no need to plead. Dorian pressed him against the wall, biting a path down Fenris’ throat and nuzzling against his collarbone as Fenris’ legs slipped around his waist. They could pretend for a little while, that they were simply two lovers in the shadows, two lovers learning the taste of one another, the feel of one another, the shape of one another. That they were simply two lovers enjoying a heady rush in the darkness, muffling their moans with one another’s mouths, clinging to one another like a last hope.

Fenris could pretend for a little while that he was free.

****

Dorian heard the news from Alexius, in passing, while the old man fussed over his rituals. “Danarius’ little dog broke his leash,” he said, cursing under his breath as he scribbled on a yellowed piece of parchment. “He’s given chase, but there is little hope of finding him. Mongrels like that are good at disappearing.”

It had been more than a year since he’d seen Fenris, and he had no idea what he had gone through since the time they had shared their heat and their darkness behind the curtain. He had heard dark stories from Alexius, about a ritual that Danarius had been working on, one that he wished to test upon the flesh of his favorite slave. Since he had heard the rumors, he had tried desperately to meet with Fenris, to learn what had happened to him, to make sure that he was still alive. Information had dried up, and he had been unable to gain entry to Danarius’ inner circle, or to be invited into his manor. 

To hear that he had freed himself… 

Perhaps he should have wished for Fenris to be with him, for him to be close so that he could hold him and tell him how madly, how desperately he wanted him. But all Dorian felt was joy for him, that he had torn the collar from his throat and stomped it into the dirt. 

_Run_ , Dorian thought, looking out his window and down onto the dark street below. _Be free, Fenris._

****

“Do not lay your hands on me,” Fenris growled. The markings on his body flashed and glowed with an eerlie silver-blue light, and he gripped Dorian by his throat and pressed him up against the alley wall. 

He’d spotted him moments earlier, amid the busy Orlesian streets. Everything had stopped mattering; the strange tear in the sky, the threat of war, even the dark and dangerous rumors that his former Master was doing dangerous work in the east. All that mattered was that Fenris was there, he was safe, he was _free_. 

Dorian gripped his elbow and that was when things turned… dangerous. 

“Fenris,” he gasped. “Please.”

Slowly, Fenris set him down, removing his hand from Dorian’s throat. The strange light that had flared from the markings on his skin faded. “How do you know my name? Are you one of Danarius’ little pets, come to punish me for destroying your master?”

“I— No, no,” Dorian said. He rubbed the bruises on his throat, looking at Fenris with watery eyes. There was honestly no recognition on his face. Dorian felt his heart sink, slowly, settling somewhere in his stomach. “You must remember me.”

“Must I?” Fenris asked. 

_They say that Danarius is doing dangerous work_ , Alexius’ voice whispered at the back of his mind, _He has discovered a way to fold lyrium into flesh, to bind it to a person as intricately and intimately as their own muscle to their bones._

“He couldn’t have,” Dorian whispered, tracing the unusual markings on Fenris’ arms and throat. “Such a thing… It would have killed you.”

Fenris followed his eyes. “It very nearly did,” he said, tracing the markings with his fingers. “But I proved too stubborn to die for him. Unfortunately the same could not be said for him.”

“You must remember me,” Dorian repeated, desperately. “You must.”

“These markings took much from me,” Fenris said. “Not least of which was my memory. If I knew you before I received them…” He shrugged and looked away from Dorian. “I do not remember you.”

He could almost feel Fenris’ breath against his lips, could almost feel the shape of him under his fingers. _I want you. Please._

There was much he should have said. He should have sat Fenris down and explained to him who he was and what they had meant to one another, before the sky had opened and the lyrium had been tattooed into his flesh. That they had planned, however feverishly, however _childishly_ , to run away together, south and then wherever Fenris wanted. 

But he looked at him, at the way he carried himself, at the sharpness of his eyes, at the fading line around his throat where a collar had once rested, and he couldn’t.

Fenris had freed himself. He had carved his way to that freedom in blood, and he had made a life for himself. Perhaps it wasn’t a life that he had dreamed of, or one that their fantasies had been built around, but it was _his_ life, and he was _free_. 

Dorian was a link to a past that he no longer remembered, and that he didn’t wish to remember. 

“Are you going to tell me who you are?” Fenris asked. 

“Dorian,” he said, ignoring the sharp pang in his chest when Fenris showed no recognition of the name. “We knew one another in Tevinter, a long time ago. We—”

The line of his throat, warm and open and vulnerable. Dorian had printed the shape of his teeth there, had traced the line of Fenris’ body with fingers that trembled. They had had one another in the dark, in their secret place. It hadn’t been much, of course, but it had been _theirs_. The memories were lost to Fenris, perhaps mercifully, but Dorian remembered, and he kept them somewhere that no one could ever touch. He kept them somewhere no one could ever take them from him. 

“—Were friends,” he finished. 

“I’m sorry, then,” Fenris said. “But I am not the man you remember.”

“No,” Dorian said. “No, I suppose not.” 

When Fenris moved to leave, Dorian fought the urge to reach out to him, to grab him and pull him back.

He watched Fenris as he turned the corner and disappeared. 

_Be free, Fenris_ , he thought, smiling softly. _Be free._

**Author's Note:**

> Written for secretbraintwin on tumblr! I've actually been fond of this pairing for a while now, ever since learning about Dorian's connection to Tevinter and his feelings on how things there are handled. I hope I'm not the only one who finds the potential relationship between these two interesting!


End file.
